


Elementary, Dear Chancellor

by orphan_account



Series: The Adventures of Obi-Wan the Serial Killer [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chancellor Bail Organa gets suspicious of the high death toll in the Republic and makes an attempt at investigating. He doesn’t get very far, but it’s the thought that counts. (Set in the Obi-Wan the Serial Killer ‘verse. May or may not be consistent with the other stories in this series, requires background knowledge of <em>The Padawan Band</em>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elementary, Dear Chancellor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [givehimonemore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/gifts).



> Written for a friend over on Tumblr! I thought it would be nice to add to the collection here on AO3. Hope everyone enjoys!

Bail Organa was a man in his prime. Though he was now 43 years old and fast approaching his tenth anniversary as Chancellor of the Republic, he looked and felt as young as the day he had become Supreme Chancellor by default, following the tragic (and accidental, it was stressed) deaths of Chancellor Palpatine, Bail Antilles, Ainlee Teem, and several other candidates Bail couldn’t remember the names of.

Technically, a Chancellor was only meant to serve two consecutive terms, each four years – but Bail, thanks to Obi-Wan’s (and the Jedi’s) public support of him, had won the last election as well after the candidates all died in odd but definite accidents on the same night.

Bail had been warned by many Senators, and one former Chancellor, that the job was notorious for aging those in the position. As the second-youngest elected Chancellor in Republic history, though, Bail experienced none of the hardships that usually accompanied the job. All in all, it had been a good ten years: no assassination attempts, no Bills he didn’t like going through and all the Bills he  _did_  like going through, the full support of the Jedi Council (all two members), scarcely any corruption, and no politicians that irritated him for too long before karma (as Obi-Wan said) took its toll.

“…I mean, this is really unacceptable, Chancellor! As Duchess of Mandalore, a proud Level 5 Vegan planet, I simply  _cannot_  condone the wide-spread consumption of meat and dairy products across Republic-aligned planets and systems. It’s criminal and barbaric! If you do not impose strict vegan diet requirements upon this body, I  _will_  be forced to withdraw Mandalore’s support from the Republic.”

Well.  _Almost_  no irritating politicians. There was a short pause in Satine Kryze’s tirade, and Bail allowed himself to breathe.

“ _Futhermore_  –”

He grimaced, but kept on nodding politely. Privately he thought the Republic would do just fine without Mandalore’s support (well, half of it anyway – the other half of the planet refused to accept Satine’s authority), but Obi-Wan seemed unusually invested in the affairs of Mandalore and cautioned Bail to keep Satine Kryze happy.

 _As though this cow could ever be happy with anything_ , he thought dourly, but still smiled. She was wearing a rather noxious perfume, though, which made it difficult to keep a pleasant face. No doubt it was some ghastly organic ointment. “Thank you for sharing your concerns with me, Duchess Satine,” Bail said when she paused again for air. She tried to speak up again, something about ‘not being finished yet’, but Bail talked over her: “These issues shall be looked into at once. Take care, now!”

She was ushered out quickly, and Bail slumped back into his chair with a sigh. Now he knew why people said this job would be taxing.

* * *

 

Padmé was drunk, as usual.

“ _Hic!_  I mean, it’s just, it’s  _straaaaange_ , dontcha think?” she slurred, waving her empty flute of champagne around. Bail couldn’t remember what the topic was; he could have sworn they were just laughing about how Orn Free Taa drowned in a bowl of soup last week, but Padmé tended to jump from topic to topic without warning when she was on the way to total drunken annihilation. One of the straps of her dress had slipped down her shoulder and her left breast was peeking out; Bail made no gentlemanly attempts to help her return to modesty.

“What’s strange?” he said, taking a gulp of his own drink (brandy, a gift Obi-Wan procured for him following the Prince of Hadera’s untimely death a week ago). He tried to keep his gaze away from her chest by mentally chanting things like  _I’m married_  and  _I’m already involved with Obi-Wan as well_  and  _they’re not even that big_ , but he had a raging erection anyway.

Padmé didn’t notice. She hiccupped again and giggled, reaching for the whole bottle now. “Y’know,” she said. “The  _deaths_. Alllll these Senators  _dying_. S’odd. I reck- _hic_ -reckon there’s a… a… whatcha call it…”

She shook her head and started drinking straight from the bottle. The other strap of her dress fell down, and her other boob was exposed too. Bail shifted uncomfortably.

“ _Serial killer_ ,” she announced randomly.

“What?”

“What it’s called! People  _dying_. Lotsa deaths. Gotta be someone killing ‘em all, y’know?”

“I know you’re drunk,” Bail declared, but he felt pretty drunk himself. Padmé laughed and clambered onto his lap, pulling her skirt up around her waist and rocking against his groin.

“I’m married,” she stage-whispered, tilting the bottle against her lips again. She missed, and the liquid spilt between their laps. “But it’s a – it’s a  _seeecret_. You can’t tell  _anybody._ Prom- _hic!_ -promise?”

“I’m married too,” Bail whispered back. “And I’m already having one affair.”

Padmé squealed in delight and bounced on his lap a bit. It was more painful than arousing, but Obi-Wan hadn’t been around all week (he’d said something about keeping a dying friend ‘company’) and Breha was all the way out on Alderaan.

“Imma just give you a blowjob, then,” Padmé decided. “But  _you_  gotta get me off, too.”

* * *

 

What Padmé had said bothered him. Not the part about her being secretly married (though Bail would put his money on Anakin Skywalker, since he was always at Padmé’s apartment when he was on Coruscant and forgot to take of his wedding band last time), but the part about there being a serial killer around.

As far as Bail knew, there hadn’t been a single suspicious death, a single murder or foul play, or assassination in the Senate for ten years now. Over five hundred  _accidents_ , sure – but  _murder?_  The idea perturbed Bail, but there was no sense in bringing the topic up in sober conversation. Besides, he had other things to ‘talk’ to Obi-Wan about when he came to visit him in his office. (He decided not to mention that Obi-Wan’s clothes smelled like Satine’s noxious organic perfume.)

"Say," Bail said after they’d fucked hard against the desk and redressed, looking professional once more. He frowned to himself and thought back over the last couple of Senate sessions. "What happened to Mas Amedda? I haven’t seen him in nearly a week."

Obi-Wan looked displeased with Bail’s topic of post-coital discussion, but indulged him. “Oh, didn’t you hear?” he replied mildly, forging Bail’s signature on a bill. “He died. Very tragic. Fell off the podium, died instantly. Terrible mess.”

"Oh." Bail blinked. "He just… fell right off?"

"Apparently."

"That doesn’t seem like him. He had those… things on his head, to keep him balanced." Bail gestured to the top of his head. "You know, those extra bits that aliens have? Like Twi’leks and Togrutas?"

"I would do a bit of research about his species before saying that in Session, Chancellor," Obi-Wan recommended.

"Oh, no, of course. I was just… surprised."

Obi-Wan seemed annoyed that Bail was still talking about it. “Well, he  _was_  a very irritating being. Always yelling out ‘silence’ and ‘order’ when a topic didn’t suit him. He was a rather _large_  person as well –  _heavy_ , one might say. It was bound to happen one of these days, him just falling off that very small podium from such a height. Purely accidentally, of course. No witnesses.”

"Hmm.” Bail frowned. “That’s five deaths this month –"

"The Senate is a dangerous place – no health and safety regulations," Obi-Wan said shortly, and that was the end of that topic. "Tell me about this fundraiser Senator Amidala is planning."

"Which one?" Bail muttered.

* * *

 

Bail didn’t often have a lot to do with Anakin Skywalker on a personal level, but he considered it his Chancellor-y duty to investigate his lingering suspicions of foul play in the Senate. Not that he had any proof, as such – Padmé Amidala’s drunken ramblings could hardly be considered evidence of any kind, since people barely took her seriously when she said “hello” these days. But even so, he was slightly troubled, and also quite bored considering he had no meetings or Senate sessions or galactic issues to resolve.

“Thank you for seeing me, Master Skywalker.”

“n/p,” Anakin replied, flopping down into the chair opposite Bail and flinging his legs over the sides.

“What?”

“It means ‘no problem’.”

“Oh.”

“Whazzup, Chancellor?”

Bail strummed his fingers on the desk. “Well, I just have a few… questions. About the Jedi Order.”

Anakin wasn’t paying attention; he was eyeing the chocolates on Bail’s desk instead. Bail sighed and pushed the box forward, and Anakin lunged for the wrapped confectionaries. “Awesome, thanks,” he said, shoving a piece into his mouth. “Wha’ wa’ th’quesh-on?”

Bail cleared his throat. “I was hoping you could tell me about the deaths of Masters, uh –” He consulted his list. “Jinn, Yoda, Windu, Rancissis, Koth, Tiin, Poof, Billaba, Yaddle –”

“Dude, that’s like, ancient history.” Anakin waved his hand. “Accidents.”

“ _All_ of them?”

“Yup.” Anakin shoved another piece of chocolate in his mouth. “S’why me an’ Obi-Wan are th’only Council Members now. ‘Cept, he kinda holds me back, y’know? I’m totally powerful and I’m  _way_  better at singing than him, but I think he gets jealous of me.”

Bail had not heard Anakin’s singing, and therefore could not pass judgement on this statement. “It’s just,” he said, “don’t you find it strange?”

“Find what strange?”

“All of those Jedi Masters, dying so suddenly all those years ago, one after the other.”

Anakin thought about it. “IDK,” he said. “y?”

“Not that I don’t think you and Master Kenobi have been doing a wonderful job running the Order for the last ten years,” Bail hurriedly added. “I just wonder if maybe… you had plans to widen the Council?”

“I don’t think so,” Anakin said with a shrug. “I might ask him if we can bring Ahsoka onto the Council. She’s pretty good. She helped me go shopping for Senator Amidala a while ago! But Obi-Wan says he works better with just me. The Team and all that.”

Bail frowned. “Didn’t he used to poison your oatmeal? I’m certain I saw him put ground glass into your blue milk when I visited a few years back.”

Anakin laughed. “That stuff? Naaaah. He was just helping me build my immune system.”

“I… don’t think that’s how it works –”

Anakin’s wristwatch interrupted their discussion with a beeping, and the young Jedi groaned and pulled himself up out of the chair. “I gotta go. Soz.”

"Where to?" Bail inquired, as it was polite of Chancellors to engage with their subjects.

"The Temple meat freezer this time, I think."

"The –" Bail paused. "Sorry, the freezer?"

Anakin nodded. “Yeah. It was the garbage compactor last time, so it’s the freezer today.”

Bail stared. “…Why?”

"Obi-Wan says it builds character. Also I left my pubes in his soap last night, and it’s my scheduled punishment. But it’s okay – I’ve been building an igloo in the freezer for the last ten years." He beamed, looking very proud of himself. "It’s pretty awesome, actually. Next time you visit the Temple, you should come and see it!"

"I will… keep that in mind. Um. Enjoy?"

"Thanks!” Anakin said happily, taking the entire box of chocolates as he stood. “Oh – if you want to talk to someone else about the Order, you should speak to Master Tachi. She’s pretty close to Obi-Wan, if you know what I mean.”

Bail did know what he meant, and it seemed like many people were ‘pretty close’ to Obi-Wan these days, himself, Padmé, and Duchess Satine included.

“Oh, also, you should come along to my ten-year band reunion. It’ll be on in a month!” Anakin beamed again. “I’ll save you a spot at the front, right next to Obi-Wan.”

Bail thanked him.

* * *

 

Bail told Sheltay to clear his appointments for the day (one hairdressing appointment) and wandered the grand halls of the Jedi Temple instead. As Obi-Wan’s close friend, he was familiar with the surroundings, though often he was in Obi-Wan’s company. Obi-Wan was at a funeral today, apparently, so it took him a while to track down Siri Tachi on his own. He’d never met the woman, but after a stroll through the Jedi Temple he located the person he believed to be her (aided by helpful Padawans along the way) quite swiftly. “Hello, Master Tachi,” he greeted the exceedingly beautiful woman. “I was wondering if I could take a moment of your time –?”

“I’m Taria Damsin,” the woman replied curtly, crossing her arms. “You know. His super special best friend from his childhood? Anyway, Siri Tachi died last night in Obi-Wan’s arms.”

Bail had no idea how to reply to that. The Temple corridor suddenly felt very cold and awkward. “Oh,” he said. “I’m… sorry?”

Taria coughed. “I’m dying.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Poisoned shellfish. Long, slow death. No cure. And now I’m going to needlessly exert myself with a sparring session and put my remission in jeopardy, and then spend the night in Obi-Wan’s arms totally not having sex on my deathbed.”

“I’ll just… leave you to it then, shall I?”

Taria Damsin nodded. “Thanks, Chance.”

* * *

 

Bail visited the Temple again the next day, hoping to run in to Obi-Wan. Sheltay cleared his appointments again (a drinking session with Padmé), and he ran into Taria Damsin again in the same corridor he spotted her yesterday. “Oh, hello – Master Damsin, wasn’t it?” he said. “How are you feeling today?”

“My name is Alys Derrida,” she replied, frowning. “I have purple eyes, see? Much prettier than Taria’s.”

Upon closer inspection, Bail realised that her eyes were indeed purple. He felt very embarrassed. “I’m so sorry.”

“You should be,” Alys Derrida replied. “I’m dying, you see.”

“Poisoned shellfish?” Bail tried weakly, and she shook her head.

“Inoperable brain tumour. Long, slow death. No cure. And now I’m going to needlessly exert myself with a sparring session and put my remission in jeopardy, and then spend the night in Obi-Wan’s arms totally not having sex on my deathbed.”

Bail experienced an unpleasant sensation of déjà vu. “I’m looking for Obi-Wan,” he said, before he could begin to question his sanity too hard.

“Get in line, then.”

“I’m the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic!”

“Yeah? Well I’m his super special best friend from his childhood, the one he always secretly pined for!”

“Of course you are,” Bail muttered. “Thank you for your time, Siri – I mean, T—  _Alys_.”

* * *

 

This time Bail waited a week to return to the Temple. In the interim, seven more Senators had died: two by falling off their podiums (no witnesses), one by exploding speeder (overheated engine), another by severe allergic reaction to a bumblebee native to the Outer Rim and not Coruscant, and the other three by slipping and breaking their necks in their bathtubs. But not all at the same time.

Bail was certain this time that the woman he was approaching in the corridor, the same spot as the last two women (who, he had to keep reminding himself, were  _separate_  women and not the same person), was Alys Derrida. She looked an awful lot like her, after all. “Alys Derrida?” he tried, wincing.

She frowned. “Who the fuck is Alys? I’m Siri Tachi.”

“…I thought you were dead, Siri.”

“Nope,” she said. “Faked it. Undercover plot. I’ll probs die for real in a month or so, though – really tragically.”

“In Obi-Wan’s arms?” Bail asked with a sigh.

“In Obi-Wan’s arms,” Siri Tachi agreed.

“He’s going to run out of your clones eventually, you know,” Bail muttered, and left the Temple without another word.

* * *

 

It was times like these Bail consulted with his wife. Although increasingly sooky and/or emotionally manipulative, in part due to her martyr-like acceptance of his relationship with Obi-Wan, Breha was mostly good company and the sex was always decent. This time, however, the sex was fantastic – Bail was left panting and breathless afterwards, clutching the sheets to his chest as he stared at his wife in surprise. “That was… amazing,” he gasped.

She gave him a look, as if to say ‘See what you’re missing out on when you’re with your manwhore’, and kissed him softly on the mouth. “It was. I’ve missed you,” she simpered. “My Healer is very good at vaginal rejuvenation therapy.”

Bail decided not to ask, for the sake of his own mental health. He cleared his throat and sat up next to her, tracing her butterfly tattoo on the small of her back. “Can I ask you something?”

Breha gave him another look this time, a more soulful/sorrowful look accompanied by a slight lip quiver, designed specifically to make him feel guilty for his persistent absence in her life. (It worked.) “I’m  _always_  here for you, B,” she murmured, touching his face gently. “Whatever you need.”

It wasn’t quite what he’d asked, but he’d take what he could get. At the same time, he remembered why he didn’t like visiting her all that much – the sheer guilt was far too heavy-handed for post-coital bliss. “I appreciate that, Petal,” he managed to get out. “I wanted to ask you… do you think something strange is going on at the Senate?”

“Stranger than Kenobi being troublingly intimate with the Chancellor?”

Bail pinched his lips together. “That’s not – okay,  _fine_ , I’ll come home for the Winter Solstice, for fuck’s sake, are you happy?”

Breha looked faintly satisfied. “Well, now that you mention it, all of those Senators dying every year is a bit odd. I mean, who drowns in a bowl of soup? Really?”

* * *

 

Strangely, Bail ran into Siri Tachi at the Senate the very next day. He frowned, confused. “Odd to see you here, Master Tachi,” he greeted as he passed her in the corridor. “What can I –?”

“I’m Duchess Satine!” Satine Kryze shrieked.

Bail sighed.

“Have you been drinking? Are you on  _drugs?_  Because I wanted to speak to you about that, Chancellor! The Republic’s wide-spread use of recreational and medicinal narcotics is unprecedented and shameful! I simply cannot condone the use of –”

* * *

 

It took him the better part of the day to get rid of Satine. Finally alone with Obi-Wan in his office that same evening, Bail slumped into his chair and groaned, covering his face with his hands. Obi-Wan’s hands came to rest on his shoulders, massaging the aching muscles there gently. Bail groaned and relaxed into his ministrations. “You seem like you’ve been working hard, Bail.”

Bail shook his head. “In my ten years as Chancellor, I’ve never been so stressed.”

“It’s a difficult job,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Is there anything I can do to make it easier for you?”

Bail snorted. “Only if you know when Death Watch will finally knock Duchess Satine off.”

Obi-Wan’s hands stilled on his shoulders for a moment. “Soon,” he said, then paused. “I, uh, presume. She has become a bit of a handful these days, hasn’t she? She sabotaged the Temple sewerage system the other day. Guerrilla warfare, she said, though I’m not entirely certain what she’s fighting about.”

“Maybe she found out she was your twin sister separated at birth,” Bail muttered.

“Maybe,” Obi-Wan agreed.

There was a short silence. “Ben,” Bail said. “Do you suppose all of these deaths over the years might not be accidents? Chancellor Palpatine… all of the candidates… all of my rivals over the years. The Jedi. I’m getting a little concerned.”

Obi-Wan smiled at him sagely. “Why don’t you just stick to politics, Bail?”

Bail started to argue, but then it struck him what a good idea of Obi-Wan’s that was. “Yes, what a good idea,” he agreed, and Obi-Wan smiled. “Now, why don’t we go along to that, uh – what was it, Anakin’s band thingy…?”

Obi-Wan’s smile faded.

* * *

 

“Hi, folks! Welcome to the Ten Year Reunion of  _The Padawan Band!_  I’d like to welcome our guest of honour tonight – Chancellor Organa! Thanks for being here, and I hope you enjoy the show.”

Considering Anakin Skywalker’s famousness, Bail was surprised at how small the turnout was. About a third of the Jedi Temple, mostly Younglings, and several Senators who seemed to be there at Obi-Wan’s bequest. Padmé sat with him and Obi-Wan in the front row, smiling encouragingly at her secret husband (“WE’RE JUST FRIENDS, BAIL, JESUS,” Padmé had screeched earlier when he accidentally slipped that), but was noticeably wearing earplugs and was already heavily intoxicated.

Bail leaned over to Obi-Wan. “Sorry,” he said, “but why is my palace gardener on the stage with a tambourine?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “I’ll explain later.”


End file.
